I had a conversation with my husband not more than a week ago about what makes someone think about (or commit) suicide.

How do you explain depression to someone who has never experienced it?  How do you explain suicide to someone who has never thought about it?

I remember watching a woman who was blind on TED talks, trying to understand nail polish color.  She went on to explain a scenario when she was at a salon getting her nails done.  Someone asked her if she wanted to have "Mademoiselle or ballet slippers" for her nails.  They are both similar shades of pink, both Essie nail color, I'm either proud or embarrassed that I know both of them.  She was born blind, and she asked for the girls at the salon to explain to her the difference between the two colors.  Struggling to explain to someone who had never experienced "color", it was nearly impossible for her to understand the subtleties of "color" without having ever experienced "sight of color." Unless you experience it, how can you ever know what it is? 

I thought about this today when I was thinking about writing....I'm not even sure why the memory came flooding back to me. Trying to explain to someone who has never seen the beauty of color is an albeit simplistic version of trying to explain to someone who has never been depressed what it feels like to be depressed.  Try as one might, there's a disconnect in the experience.

I see people who are depressed in my clinical practice, daily.  It is by far the most common mental illness and continues to be, by most in our society, something that is met with shame, misunderstanding and stigma. It would be easy for me to talk in a very abstract, clinical way about what I "observe" in practice, and how I have grown to understand depression and suicidal ideation (thankfully, not the act of suicide) through my practice. However, tonight, I feel compelled to not take the easy and safe route.

For years I was depressed.  Clinically depressed. Not the typical teenage blues or mood swings, rather the "I feel like if I didn't wake up tomorrow, that'd be ok" type of depression.  Most around me didn't even know it.  I cried all the time.  I couldn't sleep.  I felt helpless. I felt hopeless.  I isolated myself from friends.  I was moody.  And at times, I considered suicide.

Even I, as a therapist, feel some amount of vulnerability and shame associated with admitting all of that in written form to however many people will read this post.  I'd so much rather people see the "light" in me than admit to the "dark", but they are both part of who I was back then, and admittedly who I am today.

So why is it important that I give my thoughts on this subject?  

Perspective.  And time.  And healing. And peace....

As I wrote in the first sentence, this conversation started a week or so ago with my husband who has known me for 21 years.  He has not known that part of me.

That is not to say over the 21 years that I haven't felt some twinges of depression coming on, and not to say that my mood doesn't fluctuate (he'd probably say more than I would admit), but in that time I have not felt desire to, the urge to, or had thoughts of "If i didn't wake up tomorrow, that'd be fine" as I did years and years ago.

So how do you explain it to someone who has never experienced it?  How do you explain color to someone who is blind?

For me, and I presume the experience is similar with others, everything felt like work.  Getting up, talking with friends and family, faking a smile, day to day was E-X-H-A-U-S-T-I-N-G!  All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry or sleep.  I couldn't see that tomorrow would be better, and quite frankly if someone tried to tell me that it would be, I was completely irritated and felt even more alone and isolated.  My Dad's famous "the sun will come out tomorrow" phrase I'm fairly certain came to be during this time in my life....and fortunately I lived to learn to appreciate it.

Because....it's true! As bleak as our day may be, tomorrow is always another day for opportunity, for growth, for light!

How did I get out of the space, asks my husband a little over a week ago?

I so wanted to have some eloquent response....but all I could come up with (and still can) is time.  Time.  It passed.

It is said that "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem", and as much as I try to stay away from trite attempts to explain complex problems, for this I couldn't agree more.  At the time I am sure there were a myriad of monumental problems I felt powerless to resolve, but with time...somehow they did.  Now that's not to say that I didn't go to therapy, take medication (I no longer do and have mixed opinions on meds), learn coping skills to deal with my feelings in more effective ways, journal, pick up running and yoga, talk with friends (yes, it was shocking to me too that once I allowed myself to be open to friendship, friends were still there for me), pray, meditate, and a host of other things.......but the truth is, with time.....everything and I do mean everything, can be worked out.  We can find peace.  We can find the strength to move forward.  But we need time to do that.

I was sifting through youtube videos today of my favorite Robin Williams film clips, and came across this one....I love it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_zsMwCOoEs

"....That you are here- that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you might contribute a verse." Walt Whitman.

.....that the powerful play goes on, and you might contribute a verse.

Powerful.

I hope in some way, my "verse" will be my ability to connect with others and hopefully be that light for someone who is consumed by dark.  I hope my willingness to be vulnerable will bring the very real epidemic of depression out of the darkness and into the forefront and get others talking openly about it.

I'm so thankful I didn't make a permanent decision for a temporary problem. I'm so thankful I have the opportunity for one more day.

So for Robin Williams, and all of those who have chosen to end their life because that seemed like a better option than one more day....let us learn from them the need to be more compassionate, more understanding, and more aware of mental illness.  His gift to make us laugh is an easy "legacy" to hold on to, but perhaps an even more compelling "legacy" will also be to allow more space for people to talk about the "dark" as well as the "light" and maybe, if for just a moment, that will be the space and time someone needs to see their way out of his/her depression.....

Peace.....